


Pity this Busy Monster

by Ani



Series: Unclose Me (The Falls) [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11157609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ani/pseuds/Ani
Summary: It was a long game but he was not impatient, satisfied of the win. He would have everything: the work, John, John happy. And the child, who he knew was a requirement for John - but he might grow to appreciate it; he hadn’t ever thought to be in a relationship or in a relationship with John, and look where they were now.





	Pity this Busy Monster

Sherlock had no intention of quitting his work.

He was absolutely going to cut back: his vow to John to put him and the baby first was completely genuine. He would permanently take fewer cases, perhap take less dangerous ones. But first he needed to loudly and insistently quit completely: he knew that John and Mary’s primary concern was the child’s safety (and for John, the attention demanded). To pacify that fear he was required to eliminate it. Only then would Mary accept Sherlock as a permanent figure around John. Sherlock didn’t demand her approval, but John did, and so Sherlock needed it.

And it would be good for him to have that break - he admitted this though he didn’t like it; he was worn down, and needed to build a new normalcy with John.

He would build up trust from them, show off his talent at parenting (no doubt excellent), so that his commitment was a foregone conclusion; the whole time, Lestrade would be begging him for his help, and Sherlock would only need wait for an urgent, priority case (with any luck, one that was putting children in danger - their empathy creating guilt) that would absolutely demand his attention, just this once. A few more ‘this time only’ and Sherlock would have it all. Once his work was accepted by repetition he would convince Mary of the security but importance of John’s presence; realistically, he was aware this might be delayed until the baby reached a certain age. That would also depend on the custody schedule, but there he could rely on one of Mycroft’s minions creating whatever legal state he and John wanted week by week.

It was a long game but he was not impatient, satisfied of the win. He would have everything: the work, John, John happy. And the child, who he knew was a requirement for John - but he might grow to appreciate it; he hadn’t ever thought to be in a relationship or in a relationship with John, and look where they were now.

Sherlock was positively brimming with satisfaction but John was shut down, staring out of the cab window and refusing even a gentle shoulder rub. Sherlock had hoped that John would move past this moralizing guilt quickly, especially as they’d received Mary’s blessings, but he looked positively ill. A conversation about their relationship - which he wanted to push forward immediately, thinking of their flat, thinking of taking John in their flat - might only aggravate the needless and pointless shame. So Sherlock jumped on the topic of the child, wanting to again impress how seriously he took it.

“When is Madeline due?”

John’s hands clenched and he didn’t turn from the window. “I suppose that’s her name now officially. We were still considering them. I liked Rose - that’s Mary’s middle name. Madeline is from her favorite childhood book.”

“A good choice,” Sherlock said. He found compliments reassured John in times of stress.

“Madeline Rose Watson,” John said quietly, “due in just five more weeks.”

Five weeks - he would have no cases for at least four months. He brushed the back of his phone in his pocket, wondering what case Davies had had for him. Likely nothing good - Davies never had good ones. Still - it’d be nice to take one last puzzle before his break. He’d have to fill up the time up with John instead.

John looked absolutely uninterested in taking up anything.

Sherlock pushed ahead with the conversation. The more John was drawn out, the more likely he was to rush to the tears, and then the comfort, and then the sex. God, he wanted sex with John. “Five weeks is very soon,” he said (stating the obvious also comforted John). “What are our plans for the delivery room? Is there an etiquette for my presence?”

John barked a laughed and leaned forward, knocking on the cab’s window. “Excuse me? Yes. Can I get out now please? Here is fine.” He unbuckled before the car came to a halt, jumping out despite Sherlock’s grab at his arm. Sherlock quickly followed but John shook his head, pushing him back on the sidewalk.

“No. Look. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t - I just left my wife. I can’t go home and pretend everything is normal immediately.”

“Of course,” Sherlock said. “You need to be alone.”

“Yes. Just for a bit. I mean - I want to be around you. So badly. But-”

“John,” Sherlock said quietly. “It’s fine. It’s been a long time. I also want us to come together without this cloud over it.”

John let out a tight sigh, an unreadable expression on his face. Sherlock pressed forward. “Do you want the room? You’ve kept it up all this time. I can get a hotel.”

“No. You sleep there. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay, John. The morning.”

“Right,” John said, and took two steps away. Then immediately stepped back, and grabbed Sherlock’s face and kissed him - too hard, too angry, biting his lower lip, but Sherlock growled into it and then John groaned and relaxed and offered him his tongue. Sherlock pulled him closer - someone walking by jeered at them - Sherlock slid his hands under John’s jumper, his finger touching that bare skin again, after so long, tracking the spine, C3 to L2. John pulled away, gently, offering one last kiss, and a small smile. Not angry with Sherlock, then; still desirous of him. Needing to grieve and heal his self-image. Sherlock smiled too, and hailed a cab for John, closing the door behind him to show that he held no ill-will. He watched them drive off - still smiling fondly, in case John looked back - and then, as soon as he was out of sight, took out his phone.

“Davies? Yes. Sorry about that earlier - working another case. What do you have for me?”

 

 

 

 

  
“Thanks for coming. I know this isn’t a great place to meet.”

Harry shrugged, carefully ignoring John’s beer. “I’ll live. What’s the emergency?”

“Well… I told you that Sherlock is back.”

“Uh huh.”

“He and I… Well. We’re in a relationship.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re keeping a bloke on the side?”

“No, not like that! Mary… knows. We’re separating. I think. God, this has all been in the last hour.”

“You’re divorcing Mary to take up with him. Holy shit. What about the sprog?”

“That’s something we need to figure out. I mean - we’ll both be parents. Equal parents. But not with Sherlock. Yet, anyway. I don’t…” he trailed off, taking another drink, not sure of the answers and troubled by it.

“Well now I forgive you the pub. _Jesus_ , John.”

“I know.”

“So you’re…” she fished around for something to do, grabbed a grubby bowl of peanuts and started splitting the shells. “I mean, Johnny. I know you loved him, like truly, like he was your soulmate, but… he just gets to swan back into your life and you’re going to shack right up with him? Instead of with your wife? And your kid? You seemed… content with Mary. That’s a lot to throw away. I don’t really know Sherlock but he doesn’t seem like the kid type. He’s always off solving crimes and ruining your flat with those disgusting experiments, right? He’s going to drop all that for play-dates and piano lessons?”

John continued to drink.

“Didn’t you say that all the real detectives called him a sociopath? I mean, we met twice. He wasn’t exactly nice. You’re going to put a kid into that position? It’d be like our da all over again, with the yelling and -”

“He’s nothing like our father.”

“Sure and you’re nothing like Mum making excuses for his behavior and willing to put up with his shite and whatever he does to the kids.”

John slammed the cup down, making the table rattle and several peanuts roll off. “For fuck’s sake Harry, I called you here to comfort me, not to yell at me.”

“Like fuck you did, Johnny, you’re pissed at yourself and need me to be your doubting conscious.”

A silence continued. His anger simmered. “I’m getting another drink. I’ll get you a water. Lime?”

“Sure.”

That was, in fact, the exact reason he’d called Harry. Because she was not a Sherlock-apologist, and as an outsider, might have a clearer view of things, and because she was willing to call his bluff. He could not say the same for Lestrade. And Sarah - well, not only did she work early tomorrow, but she was Mary’s friend - Mary’s friend far before he ever knew her, they’d gone to uni together, they were thick as thieves, and when Mary wanted to talk to someone about this she’d call Sarah first and Sarah would absolutely not take John’s side.

He’d also called Harry because his sister did not comfort well and he didn’t think he deserved comfort.

He returned with their drinks, three lime slices and a stir straw for Harry, no ice, just as she liked. She shoved the shells away from her, pulled the water close and sucked slowly through the thin straw. John noticed her lips were chapped - she always picked at them when she was stressed.

“What’s going on in your world?”

Harry laughed. “Please, John. My drama can be totally on hold for yours. Yours takes the big cake here.”

“How was your date with Lisa?”

“Fine. She’s nice. Has this weird thing about model trains.”

“But?”

“But she’s not Clara.”

“We have the same disease.”

Harry snorted. “And just slightly different addictions.”

John wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“Okay, brother. If it’s my support you want, you have it. I’m a happy aunt whatever happens. And I’m a happy sister as long as you’re happy. But I want you to ask yourself about _your_ happiness. Because - and this is addiction therapy speaking, but it’s true - because I think you got married because thought it was the right thing to do. Haven’t said it yet but that’s out there now. Right? And you did it because you thought it’d make Mary happy. Now maybe you’re doing this because you think it’d make Sherlock happy. And you have a hard time distinguishing empathetic happiness with your own real happiness. You have to do what’s right for you. Not confuse that with another person.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah I told my counselor about you and she said you had the biggest damn case of codependency she’d ever heard of.”

“I can’t imagine she had the full picture,” John muttered. “But look. Yeah, I… I run after Sherlock and he chooses the race, sometimes, that’s true. But _he’s_ the one giving up everything here. He doesn’t want to be a husband and father and care about the domestics, but it’s worth it to him, to be with me, and so that’s one huge sacrifice he’s making, and Mary is making an enormous sacrifice, and Madeline is making an enormous sacrifice, and all of that in service to my selfish needs, so I’m the one who’s a problem here.”

“‘Doesn’t want to be a husband and father’?” Harry quoted innocently, popping a lime slice between her teeth.

John sank into his chair. “No. It’s not like that.”

“Seems a bit rash to run off with him and your baby then, yeah.”

“It’s not - he doesn’t - he loves me. He’ll love Madeline.”

“You don’t seem extremely sure about that.”

John gulped down his drink and laid his head on the table. “Jesus, Harry.”

“That’s another therapy trick. Repeat what you say really slowly with all this emphasis.”

“So I don’t know what Sherlock bloody Holmes would be like as a husband and father. Does anyone? I meant, isn’t it like that for anyone in a relationship at the start? Besides, I’m not saying we’d get married, right away…”

“Well if you’re going to camp up in that haunted flat of yours and spend every hour together like you used to but this time also changing diapers I don’t see much of a difference.”

“I need another drink.”

“You do not. John. John!” Harry grabbed his arm, dragging him back into the seat. “You wanted brutal honesty, right? That’s why you called your fuck-up sister.”

John sat back down and felt absolutely worse than ever.

“So I’m going to give you my two insights, okay? And then I’m going to get out of here, with you, and you’ll crash on my couch and be out by seven because I have brunch with Lisa.”

John stared at his ring. It was still on his finger. He didn’t know when to take it off. Or what to do with it. Or how.

Now he wasn’t sure if he should.

“Well, three insights. Freebie: you’re feeling very shocked right now so don’t take your mopetastic sudden insights as something important, okay, once the deep emotional waters of John Watson settle you’ll know what’s right for you.

“Point one: I don’t know how you put up with that man. But that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen you. And you’re worth that happiness. You deserve it, Sherlock probably deserves it, Mary definitely deserves something better, no offense. And my niece deserves to see happy relationships, so if that’s her mom and two dads then do that.

“Point two: if you’re not sure she’d be in a good condition seeing those happy and _permanent_ relationships, then be very careful of your next steps, because I swear to God Johnny, if harm comes to her I will rip out your intestines and wrap them around each other’s neck to hang you with. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Settle your tab and let’s get out of here. Your moroseness is not helping me not drink.”

John obediently returned to the counter, taking out his phone. _Staying at Harry’s_ , he texted.

The response was immediate. _See you at home soon. -SH_

He thought of Sherlock laid out on the couch, a dream he’d had so often in the last three years as unattainable, a dream he’d had so often in the last few months as maddening, a dream finally fulfilled.

And here he was not walking into it.

“I’m going back to 221B,” he announced to Harry. “I’ll think about those things. They’re important and I appreciate your advice. But right now I need to be with him.”

“All right. Whatever you say, brother.”

John hugged her goodbye and grabbed a cab, thrumming with excitement, his leg bouncing all the way back, the bad leg with the ache now gone.

He practically flew up the stairs and into their living room, wanting to surprise him, wanting to throw himself into Sherlock’s arms. “Sherlock!”

There was no response. He tried again, and went to their bedroom in case he’d fallen asleep.

Sherlock wasn’t there.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, yes, haha, this was last updated in 2012 which was a century ago, and deserves no readers. But I would like to finish it. And will.
> 
> Although there were three (!) seasons since this was started, it remains canonical only through S1.


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